The Heerdink-Stepek Cycle

No birds sing now in this landscape void of life, of love, of light. Nests dismantled, the tabernacle destroyed. Every voice lifted into one higher being straight from the page to the hand that wrote the book.

Back in place this lonely God picked himself up accepting his destiny Eyes blinded by Fate a new life never to blossom they worshipped what wasn't there lives spent stumbling around the desert looking for a Promised Land Promised much delivered only sand and terrible heat until one last time the sun closes under the sad horizon and fog becomes night becomes nothing in the end that final day done no birds sing now no tears shed.

Not a single tear left to shed on that final day in the end as the fog becomes night & our sun’s tiring iris decides to close one more time. The lonely god no longer without all the souls required for sweet nirvana. So many spent their lives worshipping what couldn’t be seen only to discover in this new life upon opening eyes after rebirth our destiny all along was to be picked back up as the many shards of a broken god & put back in place.

A good heart betrays when their love goes cold under the ground and they wish for the sound of angels' wings that no longer beat We disguise visitations for rusty old chains that bind our feet and keep us Earthbound with only broken fences left to mend Not a single cloud to spare the blue sky Not a single tear to shed away the grief hoping for all that is pure to heal so we can take flight from daytime to the night

What good does a heart do for lonely men when their love is but long under the ground & cold nights got them wishing for the sound of missing sweethearts & their affection? If only skies allowed visitation, grief’s old rusty chains would become unbound so all that’s lost could finally be found, gathering the broken pieces to mend. Except there’s not a single cloud in sight that can wash away this deep immense pain. A man is left to himself in the night hoping for something most pure to obtain & with his shattered parts now healed take flight if only the lonely god could spare rain.

We undo a sonnet line by line spending money as we write and though poverty makes us whine and growing debts ensure life's tight Our tiny children still admire something cheap, devoid of beauty we're all machines set on fire with purchasing our only duty Let's love the joy we come across and as we age let's love it more we have no time to waste on dross and shiny coins become a bore Go, find the strength for another smile and remain a child for a little while.

We undo ourselves for a bargain & never mind the money we save as it falls through holey pockets, leaving a golden path of debt behind for tiny children to admire & maybe get something cheap yet so special from one of those machines with the game where everyone’s a winner all the time. Some take the joy one can get with little while others grow to become old, not able to find the strength for a smile as their greed for shiny coins chokes them like the once curious child they used to be.

People buy wisdom at the market for sale, this week only, 10% off We undo ourselves for a bargain All our singularity, connection with all that is, was, and will be shatter in the rush to get a discount in the Whole Life Sale and what was once one becomes a New Age mosaic where every crack is visible and disjointed All of us artists, con artists with ourselves the one we con most we breathe is, saying look at my wonderful in-breath breathe out saying "I'm letting it go, look at me!" Meanwhile, in some quiet space in a nonentity town lungs do their work the heart beats its message and a beautiful percussion reaches to all parts of the universe 

We attain wisdom with each undoing of ourselves as though somehow the gathering of all our shattered pieces being put back not quite the same in some new age mosaic makes us all artists every time the choice is made to move forward & continue breathing in, letting it go. Letting it go can be the hardest part, yet like a metronome our lungs do the work in rhythm with our heart to create a beautiful percussion needed for the march we endure.

Everyone's going down all our bones will crumble to dust, all Earthly and Heavenly structures will decay, the brick walls we hit they too will fall apart It's a safe assumption that change, ever-present means death as well as birth  and growth When we are no longer unwilling to accept change we attain wisdom.

I’m no longer unwilling to accept the things that may not change, but it’s a safe assumption I’ll keep hitting the wall until structural strength gives way or all my bones break. Either way, one of us is going down.

Stepping into the soft skin the missionaries pause, a hesitancy of desire. Dare they find their way into a widow’s secret world, holding onto the host of Christ that just may present  a plan that could lead to salvation. Excited beyond restraint, they open the door wider. The mourner exclaims, I'm no longer unwilling.

Tomorrow is an adventure we have already had when the birds and children lay their head welcoming that soft pillow, sleep, they dream that adults tear down fortress walls and mosters use shields to protect them from the debris. Waking brings the dreams to an abrupt end. Yesterday is a game yet to be played. boys turn into men ro escape the nest but find only calloused skin & fisticuffs seeking always the approval of fathers whose broken childhood had no concept of play & instead drank away the last drop of their reason till they were out of this world before death put them out of their misery.. Meanwhile mothers moan as they, too, aren’t ready for sleeping angels dreams of soft adventures or soft caress.

Once more, the missionaries step up with a breath of hesitancy to find their way into a lone widower’s world, holding onto hope that just maybe there can be a plan for salvation. Exhausted, a door slams after the mourner exclaims, she’s no longer here .

Tomorrow’s adventures but a dream for when the little ones lay their head welcoming that ever refreshing sleep, life’s pressure will tear down fort walls built to shield younglings from monsters intending to bring childhood to an abrupt end. Yesterday’s games over & forgotten, boys turned to men step out the nest to find calloused skin & blisters only for the approval of fathers who never bothered with play & instead swallowed away the last drop of their own prime on their own way out this world. All the while, the mothers mourn if they, too, aren’t already sleeping angels dreaming of past adventures once more.

The children in the park running around the trees on the grass all the while collecting odd stones and dried leaves the one raised from the soil by rainfall the other fallen from the spread out branches creating a collage as far as the eye could see. The children took what they needed went home through the wet streets pockets filled with stones and leaves which they'd play with in their back gardens until their bemused parents called them in for dinner. Afterwards, deep into the plot of a book they'd sip their hot chocolate and dream of tomorrow's adventures.

It’s not unlike a poet to plead with others about the importance of trees & nature for humanity’s health all the while collecting skins from earth’s fallen lungs, stamping pages with black ink, & hustling them on the streets so they can have enough cash for another book to read or maybe an overpriced cup of coffee.

All that stuff we threw out has vanished deep into the earth or sunk to the bottom of our seas the world has eaten our rubbish too late perhaps for the perpetrators to enjoy the tidiness. Earth, resplendent from space, filled as always with green life blue and white skies grey green blue seas has scorched and drowned most of humanity out of the picture and every new moment the planet dies and is reborn

We think we can just throw our trash & all we don’t desire onto the face of this earth, clogging her precious waters like years of litter doesn’t equal the incoming death of humanity. This planet’s immune system senses the virus within infecting its outer surface. If nature sees us as a continued threat, there’ll be no choice but to scorch & start anew.

  Joy sparks the Big Bang woe follows boundless fruit, endless sorrows seeds drop into soil children born seeds flourish seeds crushed children die children grow planets die planets are born water and sunlight seeds and children joy sparks woe follows infinite acceptance of infinite change